


Something Old, Something New

by intentandinvention



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Agender Justice, Fluff, Handers Secret Satinalia 2015, M/M, and hawke is a little bit awkward, in which justice is curious about sex and also naked cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:32:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5518835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intentandinvention/pseuds/intentandinvention
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke gives the Amell favour to Anders (and Justice) the morning after their first night together.</p><p>Written as a gift for Skasha for the 2015 Handers Secret Satinalia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Old, Something New

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skasha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skasha/gifts).



> This may get expanded at some point; I had hoped to write quite a bit more but my time got a little bit Christmassed! Thanks to Mikkeneko for organising the Secret Satinalia.

Anders awakes to a dull red light, and there’s a moment of disorientation before he sees the glowing coals in the fireplace and remembers with a thrill of amazement where he is. Hawke’s estate – Hawke’s _bed_ , which is warm and soft, with a heavy brocaded coverlet which rustles when Anders moves, smooth fabric sliding gently over his body. He feels as if he’s slept for years, although when he stretches his legs (his feet don’t even reach the end of the bed!) there’s a certain soreness which he hasn’t felt in a long time. He stares up at the velvet hangings of the huge bed, luxuriating in the unfamiliar duet of comfort and ache.

 _Why do you enjoy this discomfort?_ Justice murmurs in his head.

 _It reminds me of what we did last night_ , Anders explains, sorting through the memories for Justice’s viewing and feeling the hint of a blush come to his cheeks. It would be awkward, if Justice had any concept of embarrassment, as the spirit dwells with interest on changes that they’ve not heard before in Anders’ voice, on the sensation of another’s hands and mouth on Anders’ skin, on other experiences that are entirely new to Justice and which were only dim recollections in Anders’ head until last night. Justice’s interest is oddly compelling, and Anders edges certain memories forward for examination: the glimpse of himself in a mirror near the bed, head thrown back and body arched; the surprising softness of Hawke’s lips; the sounds they breathed across one another’s skin –

Beside him, Hawke stirs, rolling onto his side, and his eyes crack open. They widen when he sees Anders, and his muzzy smile is gorgeous. ‘You stayed,’ he mumbles. He opens thickly-muscled arms, and Anders feels suddenly warm inside and out as he shifts himself to nestle into the man’s broad chest. Hawke smells of sweat and sex and his beard prickles at Anders’ forehead, his embrace far too hot after just a couple of heartbeats, but Anders twines their legs together and presses himself closer and lets himself be held tight and maybe, he dares to believe, maybe even _loved_. Justice stirs gently, still curious about this mortal concept of hugging, and Anders lets them examine these sensations as well.

Above them, Hawke makes a quiet noise of surprise, and strokes a big hand over their hair. _His_ hair, Anders reminds himself. This body is his, must remain his however welcomed Justice is. ‘You’re, uh, glowing,’ Hawke says softly. ‘Justice?’

Justice’s attention is suddenly fixated on Hawke with something like shock, and Anders smiles into Hawke’s skin. No one has addressed Justice directly since they left Kristoff’s body except Anders. _It’s all right_ , he tells the spirit, and aloud, ‘No, still mostly me. Justice is investigating, that’s all. They’re curious. They’ve never been held this closely before.’

‘They’re okay with it?’ Hawke asks carefully, arms loosening a little.

Anders snuggles closer, Justice’s quiet affirmation in his head. ‘They are, yes. New experiences and all that. There have been a few of those recently.’

‘Ah.’ A beat, and then, ‘Wait. Was last night a “new experience”?’

‘Sex? Not for me,’ Anders says, wondering if he was really that bad after years of nothing but his hand. He shifts a little, considers moving away, but the luxury of being entangled naked with a lover has never been one he’s been able to give up if he has a choice. The fact that the lover is Hawke, after all this time, makes it even more impossible. ‘For Justice, though, close physical contact beyond Isabela feeling up my ass is a completely new thing. And before you say anything, they didn’t mind it. Sex, that is.’

‘Didn’t _mind_ it?’ Hawke asks indignantly, although his hand’s still stroking their hair.

There’s the quiet fuzzy feeling that Anders has come to understand as Justice agreeing, the equivalent of a nod. A couple of sensations are pushed forward in his mind: the relief he felt when Hawke welcomed him in last night, the thrill of arousal and sheer happiness as the two of them had collapsed on the bed afterwards. ‘Justice is happy that I’m happy,’ he explains.

‘Oh.’ It’s a small, pleased sound, and Anders buries his head in Hawke’s chest hair and wonders if he might burst from this happiness.

They lie there together, listening to each other and the quiet noises of the household waking up. Anders shifts himself occasionally, still not entirely convinced that this isn’t a dream. The part of him that’s still the farmer’s brat from the Anderfels is cataloguing every new sensation of warm air and soft sheets for when he wakes up; the Circle-raised part is marvelling that he can get up whenever he wants to, perhaps have a bath if he wishes, or choose what to eat for breakfast.

‘I… um… there’s something I’d like you to have,’ Hawke says into the quiet. He sounds oddly hesitant, so Anders shuffles back a bit so that they can look at each other.

‘Everything okay?’ he asks.

Hawke nods, pushes himself up and leaves the bed. ‘Yes,’ he says, but he sounds distracted. Anders moves up to lie on the pillow, watching Hawke pull on a pair of loose pants and pad towards his desk. He really does have a gorgeous ass. He picks up a small wooden box and turns back, holding it in his hands as if he’s scared to drop it. When he reaches the bed he sits down beside Anders, and puts it on the bed between them.

Anders isn’t sure what to do. ‘It’s not Satinalia for another couple of days, and most people wait until the second date to propose,’ he jokes weakly, but Hawke just pushes the box towards him.

‘I didn’t want this to be a Satinalia gift,’ he says. ‘You… you don’t have to take it.’

Curiosity piqued, Anders sits up, not missing the way Hawke’s eyes slide to his bare chest. It’s odd, having someone admire him this freely. His hair’s a mess, and he runs his hands through it in an effort to make it stay flat, then reaches out, flips the small brass catch, and opens the box.

The inside of it is a sea of red, and at the centre of it is an oval medallion, polished to a bright gold and engraved with the Amell sigil. Anders picks it up, curious, and bunched red cloth comes with it, threaded through slim loops on the back. The cloth’s long enough to wrap a couple of times around his wrist, if he was so inclined, but he honestly can’t tell what he’s _supposed_ to do with it. He makes a quiet sound of approval and looks to Hawke, a little puzzled.

‘We found it whilst we were sorting out the house,’ Hawke says, not looking at him. ‘It was hidden under those rotting floorboards near the dining room; the slavers must have missed it. I asked Mother, and she said they used to call them “favours”, although they’re long out of fashion now. When an Amell started courting, they would give one to the person. That they were courting. And if the person wore it on their sleeve, that was a sign that they, uh, accepted the courtship. That maybe it could be something… more?’

Anders puts the favour down carefully, traces the Amell sigil. It’s a little bright for his tastes, which have run to unobtrusive things since he left Amaranthine, but the idea that Hawke wants him to wear something that so openly declares that they’re together is … well, it’s more than he could ever have hoped for. ‘Doesn’t the night of mind-blowing orgasms generally happen a little way past courting?’ he asks lightly, doing his best to cover the sudden rush of feeling. 

Hawke meets his eyes and grins, but it’s a little unsteady. ‘We could always do it again?’ he suggests. ‘Uh. If you want to.’ He looks away again. ‘And you don’t have to wear the thing obviously, I know it’s silly and old-fashioned and maybe you don’t even want that, and even if you do it’ll get in the way and –’

‘I don’t think I want to put it on my sleeve,’ Anders says, thinking aloud, and he realises when Hawke’s face falls that he’s been misunderstood. ‘Not like that!’ He sits up, puts the box on Hawke’s lap and pulls his hair up behind his head. ‘It’ll get dirty there, and probably covered in blood, or damaged. I … I want to look after it.’ Hawke’s looking stunned, and Anders smiles at him, looks up through his lashes and then bares his throat. ‘You’ll have to tie it.’

Hawke’s hands, usually so sure, are trembling as he leans forward and closes the soft cloth around Anders’ neck. He’s warm, and the brush of his fingers on Anders’ skin gives the mage goosebumps. ‘Not too tight?’ Hawke asks when he’s tied the knot.

Anders flexes his neck from side to side, feels the steadying weight of the medallion in the hollow of his throat. The cloth is soft, a little stretchy; it feels almost as if he’s wearing a collar, and it’ll show clearly above his shirt. Everyone will be able to see it, and from what he knows of Kirkwall’s nobles, every single one of them will know what it means. It’ll be as good as Hawke standing at the top of the Chantry steps and yelling it. No more sneaking around in dark corners, no more being afraid to say that he’s loved, that he loves in return. ‘It’s perfect,’ he says quietly, blinking and wiping at his eyes. ‘Thank you, love.’

‘I’ll get a jeweller to sort out a proper chain for it,’ Hawke says, brushing a kiss to Anders’ cheek before he pulls back so that he can see how it looks. His eyes widen a little, and he swallows.

Anders smirks then, realising how the deep, heavy red must look set against his pale skin. ‘I rather like this, actually,’ he says, gathering his hair in his hand and tilting his head so that Hawke can see the dark band around his throat. He bites his lip, lets his hair fall loose. ‘Anyway… now that I’m yours for all the world to see, I think you should come back to bed so that we can celebrate.’

Hawke grins, and Anders still can’t quite believe that he’s this lucky – this _loved_.

**Author's Note:**

> I am also on [tumblr](http://intentandinvention.tumblr.com)


End file.
